*It wasn't a very good opera but that had almost made it more fun. They could murmur snide things about it in the privacy of their box, and at intermission and afterwards. There was a lot of swanning around in front of polite wizarding society in their best clothes, her painted-on gown of bright blue a familiar and pointed message to anyone who'd ever corresponded with the Rosiers. Of course everyone had made much of them, the sharp and attractive newlyweds with just a bit of scandal attached, and Amrita had blossomed under all the attention, been gratified to note that she was the prettiest girl in the room or very nearly. And of course there was a lot of champagne--and then a bit more champagne, and a bit more, and a clever cocktail with what looked like little pearls in, and by then they were too drunk to Apparate and things had gotten very silly in the Muggle taxi and then even sillier in the lift and now she's all muffled giggles, trying to get into the flat. But she can't seem to manage it all, the key with the left hand, right
( ... )
*He slips his hand in under hers and twists the lock, and the door swings open silently into the darkened apartment. He had matched her, drink for drink, and while he's not quite entirely as wobbly as she is, he still isn't entirely sober, and walking into the flat is a relief. He steps in, sweeping her along with him and into his arms and not even bothering with the light, kicking the door shut behind them with recently-shined shoe.*
Am I going to have to pour you into bed, little monster?
*The flat is dark, and she is distracted--thoroughly distracted--with the ungentle business of peeling his jacket off like a candy bar wrapper. It ends up crumpled by the door, and as he walks her into the living room they leave it behind.*
*He was loosening his own tie, but now he reaches for the back of her neck, where the buttons begin, and speedily--as if he's practiced--begins undoing them.*
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*He slips his hand in under hers and twists the lock, and the door swings open silently into the darkened apartment. He had matched her, drink for drink, and while he's not quite entirely as wobbly as she is, he still isn't entirely sober, and walking into the flat is a relief. He steps in, sweeping her along with him and into his arms and not even bothering with the light, kicking the door shut behind them with recently-shined shoe.*
Am I going to have to pour you into bed, little monster?
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Probably.
Grr.
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